


You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To

by imunbreakabledude



Series: Not Stepsisters [3]
Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Epilogue, F/F, Fluff, Married Life, but I am trying hard not to put explicit spoilers in the tags or summary, this is an epilogue to Imagine Me And You (And Our Parents)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27945875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imunbreakabledude/pseuds/imunbreakabledude
Summary: Villanelle thought falling in love with her soon-to-be stepsister was the hardest thing she'd ever do in her life.That was before she moved to the suburbs.
Relationships: Eve Polastri/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Series: Not Stepsisters [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1886842
Comments: 39
Kudos: 187





	You'd Be So Nice To Come Home To

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vaultdweller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaultdweller/gifts).



> Hello friends! This is an epilogue to [Imagine Me And You (And Our Parents)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864576). I recommend you read that first if you haven't, to avoid spoilers. If you like fluff, and smut, and humor... that's basically what it is.
> 
> This is dedicated to my friend [Vaultdweller](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vaultdweller) for being a wonderful friend, supporting me in so many ways, and making my time in this fandom so special!! Thank you so much!

_“Under stars chilled by the winter,_  
_Under an August moon burning above,_  
_You'd be so nice, you'd be paradise,_  
_To come home to and love.”_

—Cole Porter

* * *

Summer is busy.

Who would’ve thought that after months of running around desperately trying to keep their love a secret, finally living in the open would be more exhausting?

At least the whole family knows the whole shebang – Eve and Villanelle took care of that in one fell swoop, at their parents’ wedding. No need to come out in fits and spurts to each uncle and cousin. _We are married. Get over it._ That’s how Villanelle liked to recount it, though Eve usually gave her a shove when she put it so flippantly.

There’s plenty to do, now that the secret’s “out”. Mainly, moving into their new home.

Villanelle hands in her apartment keys at the end of June, and landlady bids her her an exceptionally phony sounding goodbye.

There wasn’t a terribly large amount of stuff to move out of her apartment, only a few suitcases worth of clothes she’d brought over for the three months. Eve somehow ended up with even more things to cart out from the third floor apartment, thanks to the boxes she’d had shipped from LA and barely unpacked while staying with Villanelle.

“See?” Eve said. “I had a plan, all along.”

Less of a “plan”, Villanelle thinks to herself, and more laziness being conveniently rewarded by circumstance.

Furnishing a house from scratch is quite a process. First priority, of course, was a bed. They can deal with the rest later, but if there’s nowhere to sleep, it’s not truly moving in, is it?

“Would you like a twin?”

“Never again.”

They decide on a King size bed, and Villanelle manages to convince Eve that the top of the line mattress is an investment in their spinal health.

Another early task is to fetch Eve’s things from the family house. For a while, their new house is quite cluttered between what Eve took from her childhood bedroom, and the rest of her things she had to ship from her apartment in Los Angeles.

But it’s nothing compared to once Villanelle’s things arrive from Paris.

* * *

“How…” Eve trails off.

“Premium shipping service.” Villanelle says as she signs off on the delivery, and hands the pad back to the driver.

“I thought you said you had an apartment in Paris, not a villa.”

Villanelle stares blankly. “What’s your point?”

Eve throws an arm out to the truck parked in front of the house, full of clothes and furniture. “How on Earth did you have all this?”

“A lot is possible with space-efficient storage.”

“And some things are not possible. This won’t all fit.”

“You worry too much.”

“Yeah, I worry about being able to traverse my own home.”

Villanelle only gives a small _I-told-you-so_ paired with a brief tongue-stick-outing when all her things do indeed fit inside the house, but Eve remains rather snobby, for someone whose boxes have been littering the first floor for weeks.

To be fair, Eve’s boxes had filled a corner of the dining room, interfering with any plans for a possible dinner party, and not much more. Villanelle’s boxes now fill the foyer, the living room, and a few are even stacked atop Carolyn’s mother’s grand piano, which Carolyn had delivered to them as a wedding present.

Fortunately, Eve’s training for her new consultant position at the FBI begins rather promptly, only a week after they move in, so she’s occupied, giving Villanelle a chance to properly set up the house without the constant complaining.

She still gets her fair share in once she gets home from work each day, though.

“You need to get rid of some of this stuff,” Eve declares, poking through the clothes Villanelle had spent all day organizing. Ruining her carefully constructed order.

“It’s all going to fit,” Villanelle says, gritting her teeth and resisting the urge to grab Eve and pull her hands away from the clothes. “I’m still in process.”

“It’s not a matter of fitting; it’s common sense. Nobody needs this much stuff. Like this!” Eve pokes her head into the closet, and grabs at the first thing she sees. “What the hell is this?”

“That’s called a robe, Eve. It’s a cloth garment people wear to cover their bodies.”

Eve scowls and hurls the blue-and-white silk robe at Villanelle, perched on the bed. “I mean, what is _this_? And _this_?” She reaches back into the closet and pulls two more identical robes off their hooks, hurling them in Villanelle’s direction.

“Hey!” Villanelle cries out. “Be careful; they are expensive!”

“No one needs two of the same robe with tigers on it, let alone twelve.”

“It’s my favorite.”

“It’s hoarding.”

“You did not just compare me to those animals on TV who collect old newspapers and twist ties and live in houses full of garbage.”

“Same sin; different outlet.”

“You’re the one who likes garbage.”

“Are you trying to get me into bed?”

“Is it working?”

They make good use of the king size mattress that night.

* * *

When Eve is gone, Villanelle is quite productive. Not only in working from home (as she always has, one of the perks of her job), but also in organizing and decorating. Eve’s complaints slowly wane as day by day, Villanelle proves there is room for all of their things, stored efficiently and out of the way.

The boxes are cleared away. Then Villanelle gets a set of handmade chairs and an antique table for the dining room. A set of fine china, gifted to them by Konstantin. A nice new bench for the piano. A set of wrought-iron tools for the fireplace. A leather couch opposite a sixty-inch TV. Framed photos on the wall: one print of Eve and Villanelle kissing at the marathon, which Irina, that little shit, pulled straight from Reddit; one shot of the whole family at the wedding; and, in spite of Eve’s protests, Villanelle had also requested one additional print from Bear, the photographer. Beneath the other photos, in a burnished metal frame, is a shot that most people would consider subpar… Konstantin and Carolyn in the foreground, out of focus, turning behind them to look at Eve and Villanelle in each other’s arms on the staircase.

Eve says it stresses her out just to look at that picture, and remember the fear she felt in that moment. She asks Villanelle to take it down about once a day. Yet she can’t help smiling when she looks at it.

“You’ve got to take that down.”

 _Right on schedule_. Villanelle turns to see Eve coming down the stairs. Hair in a messy bun, glasses on, yawning, dressed in a blue robe, with white tigers.

“That’s mine.”

“Wha…?” Eve replies, though a yawn.

“My robe,” Villanelle says. “Take it off.”

“Are you kidding?”

“No. It’s mine.”

“You have twelve.”

“And they’re all mine.”

“If you’re not going to get rid of them, I’m gonna wear some,” Eve says. “You took vows, babe. What’s mine is yours, what’s yours is mine.”

“Actually, I never said that in my vows.”

“What are you gonna do, divorce me?” Eve smirks, and strolls over to Villanelle in the center of the living room. “Get stuck paying big fat alimony checks for the rest of your life? You’ll have to mortgage your robe collection just to afford it.”

Villanelle looks down at Eve. The robe’s a little bit big on her, and it falls open slightly, revealing a flash of her chest. Villanelle’s breath catches, and she sneaks an arm onto the small of Eve’s back. “I guess I’m stuck with you, then.”

“Legal reasons only.”

“Of course,” Villanelle adds. “A marriage of convenience.”

The sex that afternoon is pretty “convenient”, it’s true.

The after-sex is a whole lot more convenient, being married, too. Gone are the days of frantic re-dressing, of getting walked in on by family members. Now, they can sit in the glow as long as they want, perfectly relaxed. Watch the news. Check their phones. Looking at her phone screen, Eve starts giggling.

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Eve says. Another chuckle escapes. “Just, some people from work… making fun of something Bill said the other day…”

Villanelle sits up, knees on the matress “Tell me.”

“It was… We were talking about the designations for case files, and…” Eve shakes her head. “It’s not that funny, now that I think about it. You kinda had to be there.”

“Oh.”

Villanelle rolls over in bed and checks her own phone. A couple emails from clients. Confirmations of phone appointments, or requests for transcations. No inside jokes.

* * *

Summer turns to fall. Villanelle finishes decorating the house. Some people say you never “finish” outfitting a house, but Villanelle is quite sure her job is done. From the home gym in the basement, to Eve’s precious Buffy poster she refused to throw away framed in the guest bathroom as retro-chic decor, the house is done as done can be.

Now she is bored.

Eve has begun working the her first real case for the FBI. Villanelle is very proud. She slips little notes into Eve’s bag, or her jacket pocket, when Eve is eating breakfast. works long hours most days.

Villanelle works from home, mostly, but it’s different working at home in the suburbs as opposed to in an apartment, in Paris. There are benefits, of course. She can roam through different rooms, dressed however she likes or not dressed at all. She can blast music, or drink in the middle of the day. There’s plenty of time to take care of the work she needs to do and also watch daytime TV, or exercise in the home gym.

But with so much freedom, each day becomes much the same as the next. The sixty-inch TV seems a little smaller each day. The grand piano a little less regal.

Maybe she didn’t finish completely, after all.

* * *

Eve lets out a scream when she sees the hole where their master bathroom used to be. “What did you do?!”

“I’m redoing the bathroom.”

“What was wrong with it before?”

“It didn’t have a jacuzzi bath.”

“We don’t need a jacuzzi bath!”

“Speak for yourself.”

“We have a mortgage.”

“You have a mortgage. I have jacuzzi money.”

“Be careful before you play that card – if it’s ‘my’ mortgage, that means it’s ‘my’ house and I should get a say in tearing up the bathroom.”

“Hey!” Villanelle snaps. “I’ve put a lot of work into making the house nice. You could at least say ‘thank you’.”

“I….” Eve puts her face in her hands. “Thank you for unpacking, and decorating, but… Vill, I just wanna be able to pee in the middle of the night.”

“So we use the downstairs bathroom for a few weeks. It will be worth it.”

“Really? You need a jacuzzi that badly, that we must have it in our house, accessible at all times?”

“I spend a lot more time here in the house than you.”

“Okay. If you really need to soak in a jacuzzi bath while you trade stocks…”

“I do.”

“Make it a tax write-off, then.”

* * *

The bathroom gets finished. It’s incredible, if Villanelle can say so herself. Better than the bathroom in her Beacon Hill apartment, that Eve loved so much. Eve tries to hide her excitement when she sees it, muttering, “It’s not bad, I guess. But you better use that stupid tub.”

So Villanelle does. She sets up her laptop on a special table mounted over the tub, and keeps her phone and documents at close hand. She lowers herself into the swirling, hot water and calls up a client.

It’s quite hard to focus, however, with the sound of lawnmowers, leaf-blowers, woodchippers, and probably ten other ridiculous types of machinery blasting through the windows. The neigbors’ landscapers are working seemingly twenty-four hours, these days. How many times can grass really need to be cut? How many leaves can exist to be blown?

Villanelle waits forty-five minutes for a pause in the noise to call a client. Fortunately, the jacuzzi bath remains warm, and fresh, and moving, thanks to the state of the art jets.

“Richard?”

“Villanelle! Great to hear from you.” They chat for a few minutes about his portfolio, and the transactions Villanelle made on his behalf in the past month. All very routine. Nothing big; just maintaining his investments. While she reads numbers to him, Villanelle wonders if she could persuade him to do anything bigger. An angel investment on a long-shot website. Buy out a small corporation. Anything that might require a little more involvement on her part…

But once the numebrs are done, Richard segues immediately into small-talk. “How’s that sister-wife of yours?”

“Good,” Villanelle says. “Busy at work.”

“Must be nice to be a kept woman for once! In a sense.”

“Yes,” Villanelle says quickly. “Richard, I have some options I’d like to suggest–”

The leaf-blowers go again. Absolutely insane the way the soundwaves carry. They must must be manufactured by NASA; they’re as loud as a rocket taking off.

Villanelle has to put the phone on speaker just to hear Richard. “Options?” he says. “You still there?”

“I’m sorry, Richard,” Villanelle says. “I will have to call you back.”

Enraged, soaked, she grabs one of her tiger robes (twelve ensures there’s always a clean one in rotation – take that, Eve), and marches downstairs. Slippers on, out the door, up against the fence.

Half a dozen leaf-blowers roar in unison. So Villanelle roars right back at them. Between the noise, and the ear protection, none of the workers actually hear her until over a minute later when the two workers closest to her side of the house pause, and suddenly turn to the hoarse, screaming string of Russian swear words coming at them from the yard next door.

“Lady, are you okay?”

“ _Nyet_ –” Villanelle screams, then takes a breath. “No! You need to take those fucking smog making noise machines away from my fucking house!”

“These are clean, electric powered,” one of the men says.

“And we can’t take ‘em away. Here’s where we work.”

Villanelle fixes them with her most furious stare, and from the looks of it, both men defecate themselves on the spot.

Villanelle returns to her bath, extremely satisfied. The noise does not resume for the rest of the afternoon. Bliss.

Eve is less satisfied when she arrives home. Jacket still on, keys still in hand, fingers tapping angrily as she finds Villanelle reading a magazine on the couch.

“Mrs. Finestein tells me that you terrorized her landscaping crew into leaving early.”

“Terrorized? That’s the word she used?” Villanelle laughs. “Xenophobe.”

“Care to explain why you would scream obscenities at our neighbors?”

“I didn’t scream at the neighbors. Just at their very noisy landscaping crew. It’s annoying.”

“ _Annoying_ is not an excuse for that behavior.” Eve rubs her temples. “We can’t afford to start beef with the neighbors when we’re so new here. People can hold grudges for decades out here. I’ll go over tomorrow; bring her some wine… apologize for your behavior.”

“Don’t go apologize for me like I’m a child. Besides, there’s nothing to apologize for. You don’t understand what it’s like. Alone here all day with that droning.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t be alone.”

Villanelle sits up straight. Eve could work from home?

“What about getting a pet?”

Disappointing compared to the alternative, but still intriguing. Villanelle never brought that possibility up before, expecting Eve would be the one to shoot it down; she doesn’t seem much of an animal person.

In a flash of inspiration, Villanelle runs upstairs to get her laptop.

“What are you doing?” Eve calls after her.

“One minute!”

Ten minutes later, Villanelle dashes back down the stairs.

“Good news, Eve! We can get a tiger cub for only one thousand dollars. Much cheaper than I was expecting.”

“A ti–?!”

“There’s an investment to build a habitat, and the food budget, two hundred a week or so – but really, it’s a bargain for what you’re getting…”

“We are not getting a tiger.”

“No robes and no tiger?” Villanelle slams her laptop shut with a whine. “You are a tyrant.”

* * *

Eve arranges for Kenny to go to the pet store with Villanelle the next day, after his morning class, ostensibly to keep her company. Villanelle knows he’s really there as a babysitter, though. She heard Eve on the phone last night, instructing Kenny to make sure Villanelle returns with something “mid-low on the food chain”.

The shop’s empty when they arrive, so the clerk greets them warmly. “Looking for a little critter to keep the two of you company?”

In typical fashion, Kenny blushes, and trips over his words. “Not for me, just for her.”

“Oh, you’re not…”

Kenny and Villanelle both jump to answer at the same time. He says, “She’s my stepsister,” right as she replies, “He is my brother-in-law.”

The clerk is at a loss. They decide to go browse on their own.

The selection of pets is wide, but dull. The reptile aisle seems exciting at first, though Villanelle really wishes they had some larger snakes. She strolls the aisles despondently, while Kenny strives to make conversation – not his strongest suit.

“How’s the house?”

“Full,” Villanelle says, stopping to examine the wall of fishtanks. “Empty.”

“Pardon?”

“Full of things. Empty of Eve.”

“Right. She’s got some long hours these days, hasn’t she?”

“Extremely.”

“That sounds hard.”

“It would be hard for some people.” Villanelle walks on, towards the small mammals. Hamsters, mice, gerbils. Can’t get one of those defenseless little rodents. Eve would surely step on it.

“You must see Elena a lot,” she says. “Being in the same PhD program.”

“Sort of,” Kenny says. “Lots of independent work, though. But it’s nice to see her. And the others in my program. It’s a nice bunch of people.”

“Mmm.” Villanelle rounds the corner, to another row of mammals in small cages.

“Have you ever thought about going back to school?”

Villanelle turns on a dime. “Why would I waste my time with that?”

“Sorry,” Kenny stammers. “Did you have a bad experience, or something…?”

“No, I am great at school. I finished high school when I was sixteen and university when I was twenty. But I don’t need to go sit in a room and be told what to do again. I just like to do. To work.”

“It’s not just about being told what to do,” Kenny says. “Especially with a higher degree. It’s about… learning. Not just learning, discovering. Doing new stuff yourself. Doing.”

Villanelle shrugs. “With how much degrees cost these days, Eve would never go for it. She has a heart attack every single time the mortgage bill comes. Like we don’t know what amount it’s going to be every time.”

“I think she’d understand–”

“What about this?” Villanelle crouches down so her face is level with the cage on the low table. A small hedgehog with a brown, hairy snout and shaded bristles crawls up to the wall of the cage and sniffs at her. Villanelle sniffs right back. The hedgehog bares its teeth. Or maybe it’s smiling. It’s hard to tell.

“That fella speaks to you?” A sales clerk appears next to them. He bends over and lifts the lid of the cage, plucking the creature free. It squeaks at the touch, then blinks warily as the clerk lowers it into Villanelle’s waiting hands.

“What’s your deal?” Villanelle says at the rodent in her hand. It answers by curling into a ball and sticking its quills into her hands.

“Oh.” Villanelle’s voice drops. “You are an asshole.”

The clerk extends a gloved hand, ready to take the ball of spikes back, but Villanelle yanks it away. “No. I want it.”

Half an hour later, Villanelle is toting a top-of-the-line cage, a care kit, and large box of dried food for her new roommate.

“What will you call him?” Kenny asks, as they get back into the car.

“Tiger.” Villanelle answers. Obviously.

* * *

Decorating Tiger’s house is a new task for Villanelle. Just like she put the treadmill and heavy bag in the basement, she gets a top of the line play-wheel for Tiger. Just like she redid the bathroom, she gets him a stylish litter tray (as stylish as these things can be, anyhow). Tiger can’t enjoy the jacuzzi with full jets, but she still takes care to make his weekly bathing experience as luxurious as she can while scrubbing his spines with a toothbrush and baby soap.

Even as they get to know each other better, Tiger likes to curl up into a protective ball and stick her with his quills. Very often. Whenever he’s the slightest bit threatened, or upset, or tired, or hungry, or wistful. Curl up, quills out. No softness visible, only spikes.

Villanelle asks Eve if she sees the resemblance.

“To whom?” Eve replies.

Villanelle shakes her head and gives Tiger a knowing look. He curls into a ball.

* * *

“It’s not fair,” Villanelle whines, as Eve zips her jacket – mid-October, but it’s already cold enough for a winter coat.

“It’s all hands on deck for this case,” Eve says. “I don’t like it either.”

“Liar.”

“I like some of it. But nothing at work compares to coming home and seeing you.” Eve pinches Villanelle’s cheek. Villanelle pouts and pulls away.

“Don’t forget to take out the trash,” Eve says. “And feed Tiger. Make sure he gets exercise, and it’s been a while, he may need his nails trimmed–”

“I know what to do,” Villanelle snaps. “I’m the one who takes care of him most of the time, anyway.”

“Hey,” Eve says, in a metered but steely tone. “I know you’re not really mad at me. Is it the landscapers getting to you again?”

“No. They are supremely annoying, but… no.”

“What is it?” Eve rushes over to Villanelle and touches her forehead, like checking for a fever. Villanelle bats her hand away.

“Nothing. Go to work. Have fun.”

“You know…” Eve says. “You’re right. It’s _not_ fair. You’re here in this same environment every day…” Eve continues while she grabs her purse. “Have you ever tried one of those co-working spaces in the city?”

“Go pay to sit next to strangers and do my job in a different room? Wow, sounds like fun.”

“A little fresh air can do a lot. There’s one not far from the field office, you should check it out. I’d give you a ride but I really have to run.”

“It’s okay. I will go later. I may try a different place.”

“Okay.” Eve gives Villanelle a quick peck. “I’ll try my hardest, but I might be late.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I really think a change of scenery might help. A different view. Promise you’ll try?”

“Yes. Just go.”

“And the trash–”

“I know!”

Eve finally goes to work.

Villanelle takes out the trash.

She makes sure Tiger is clean, and safe, and leaves some food for him to eat when he wakes.

Then she starts packing.

* * *

It’s a quarter to midnight when Villanelle’s phone rings.

“Eve!” She screams as she answers. She has to scream to hear herself over the music.

“Where are you?” Eve says. “I begged Bill, clocked out early so I could meet you for dinner. Traffic was awful, but now I’m home before you!” Eve’s tone remains bright. “So I take it the co-working space was a hit?”

“I’m not there.”

“Why’s it so loud there?”

“I’m at a club.”

“What club is open and raging at six forty-five?”

Villanelle doesn’t answer. The four cocktails already in her make it a little harder to grasp for the words.

“Villanelle.” Eve’s voice is a little less ecstatic. “Where are you?”

* * *

The fight starts as soon as Villanelle’s back in their charming homestead the next evening. Eve doesn’t even give her a chance to recover from the jet lag before laying into her.

“You told me to get a change in scenery!” Villanelle protests.

“I meant like, a coffeeshop, not another continent!” Eve says. “You can’t just fly to Paris without telling me.”

“I wanted to get out!” Villanelle says, her voice rising. “I need to get out!” She throws a hand towards Tiger’s domain in the corner. “You don’t make Tiger stay in his cage where he can never see the sun!”

“Sun…” Eve says, her focus going off in the distance, behind Villanelle. “That’s it. We both need to be free. We need sun.” Eve’s eyes light with a craving Villanelle hasn’t seen in weeks, since Eve’s been so exhausted from work. “We need to go on a honeymoon.”

* * *

Due to Eve’s work schedule, they’re not able to schedule the trip for another month. Still, Eve clearly needs it too: she agrees to work over the holidays in order to secure time off in early December for their trip. It makes perfect sense, since they didn’t get the “traditional” wedding experience, to put it mildly. Now’s the perfect time to finally take a honeymoon, since life has calmed, to the point of monotony.

Deciding the date isn’t half as hard as deciding on the destination. Villanelle has one simple condition, which she doesn’t find particularly unreasonable: she wants to go someplace she hasn’t already been. But Eve starts to grow irritated when this results in her shooting down every single suggestion.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Eve says, tossing her phone onto the table in frustration after Villanelle vetoes Greece. “Loosen up on this, or we’ll end up honeymooning in Wyoming.”

“Don’t treat it like a fault that I am well-traveled,” Villanelle replies.

“I don’t even care at this point,” Eve sighs, glancing out the window at the dull grey landscape of a November evening in Massachusetts. “I just want to go someplace warm.”

“That leaves an entire hemisphere on the table,” Villanelle says. She opens Bing on her computer and types in a quick search. Then, she angles the screen to Eve with a world map displayed. “Let’s figure it out.”

Eve squints at the screen, then jabs her finger at a region in the middle. “Caribbean. There’s like, a million islands. Must be one you haven’t been to.”

After zooming in, and a long process of elimination, they book tickets to Saint Lucia.

* * *

Villanelle hums S Club 7 to herself while she packs. Eve’s suitcase is already full and zipped, in the – not because she’s so organized and prepared, but because she had to pack it days ago with working late last night, and all this week. Villanelle decided to make her packing more of a gradual process to savor it. Stretch the going-away-experience out as much as possible.

Her packing skills are unrivaled, and she’s managed to fit two week’s worth of outfits for every possible occasion for their eight-day trip all in her suitcase, still under the proper weight limit. For the final touch, she carefully folds her favorite scarlet bikini, and tucks it into the tiny air pocket left in the corner of her suitcase.

“Babe?” Eve’s voice comes from downstairs.

“I’m coming!” Villanelle calls. “We have plenty of time to get to the airport. Don’t freak out.”

Eve gets so anxious over these things, but due to her anxiety, they already planned to arrive at the airport three hours before their flight. Villanelle zips her suitcase, grabs her favorite coat from the closet, and bids Tiger goodbye.

“Kenny will be around once a day to look after you,” she says through the bars of the cage. “Be nice to him. He has soft little baby hands.”

Tiger doesn’t answer. He’s still asleep in his hiding hole. Villanelle doesn’t bother to wake him, she just hauls her suitcase down the stairs.

“Don’t say a word,” Villanelle grunts, dropping the suitcase in the foyer. “We still have plenty of time to get a Lyft and then sit at the airport like idiots for two hours.”

“We do have plenty of time…” Eve says. There’s something a little too sweet in her tone. It’s suspicious.

Villanelle rushes to the window. There’s a thick coat of white over the streets, cars, and trees, that wasn’t there twenty minutes ago. “We better call the Lyft fast,” she says. “Before that snow gets too thick.”

“Vill…”

“No.”

“I checked the website. The flight’s cancelled.”

“ _No_.”

“We can find another time…”

“No!” Villanelle kicks her suitcase over. “We’re never getting out of this fucking house! I’m going to die here!”

Eve chases her upstairs. But Villanelle is faster. And their bedroom door locks.

* * *

At first, Eve bangs on the door and demands that she open it. But Villanelle can easily win this test of wills. Eve doesn’t know who she’s up against.

After a few minutes, the knocking stops.

Villanelle lies face down on the bed. Eve is pretending to retreat to see if Villanelle will poke her head out and surrender. That’s not going to happen. She’s not going to leave this room unless she damn well wants to. She’s the master at not leaving this room. The master of not leaving this house. She can’t leave this house. It’s her extremely-well furnished cage.

Good luck to anyone who tries to drag her out. They’ll have to drag her dead body – and in that case, some natural disaster will probably crop up – blizzard, volcano, earthquake all at once to bring the house down around them and keep her corpse from crossing the threshold.

Remaining in this spot is her sole goal. It takes over all of her consciousness, so she doesn’t know how much time passes before another knock at the door. Softer this time.

“Vill?” Eve’s voice comes from outside. “I’m not gonna break in if you need to sulk. But whenever you’re ready to thaw out… I’ll be in the jacuzzi.”

Damn.

Eve is the worst.

* * *

If Villanelle closes her eyes, she can imagine she’s in a hot tub with Eve at the all-inclusive resort. She manifests the sun on her face… the topical breeze… the cabana boys that will bring her a cocktail if she snaps her fingers (not that she needs one, but having someone answer to your every demand is a nice feeling).

And Eve’s legs tangled up in hers as they rest in opposite corners of the tub.

“I’m sorry it’s not Saint Lucia,” Eve says, shattering Villanelle’s well-constructed illusion like a bull in a china shop. “I hope this is an acceptable substitute. Given the circumstances.”

“It’s not terrible,” Villanelle says. “I wish there was some staff to order around.”

“You can order me around.”

“It’s not the same,” Villanelle sighs. “You enjoy it too much.”

Eve sends a splash of sudsy water Villanelle’s way that would definitely ensure she gets no more tips, were she really a staff member at the resort.

“Hey,” Eve says, suddenly serious, before the waves she made even settle. “Are you alright?”

“Of course.”

“I’m disappointed, too.”

“I’m fine, Eve.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

A few seconds. Only the sound of the jacuzzi jets working.

“This makes me remember the last time we were in a hot tub together…”

“The roof?”

“God, was that really… nine months ago?” Eve makes a face. “How has it been that long?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago, to me.”

“That was…”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

It’s Villanelle’s turn to send a splash Eve’s way, now.

“Urgh, fine!” Eve sputters, wiping foamy water from her face. “For a minute there, I had a little fantasy, that we were on… well, the sort of trip we should be on right now.”

“You imagined we were on our honeymoon?”

“Not that! But, y’know. Hotel. Hot tub. Just us… no strings…” Eve’s gaze goes unfocused as she slips into the memory. “It seemed so impossible then. Still does, sometimes.”

“We’ve been married for six months,” Villanelle says.

“Is it though? Is it really real?”

“I’m right here.” Villanelle reaches out and squeezes Eve’s arm, but the concerned look remains on Eve’s face.

“This whole time, I guess I was still waiting… for you to be bored. For you to want more than a house in the suburbs. Than being married to me. Waiting for me to come home.”

Villanelle leans forward, and crawls through the pulsing water to settle beside Eve, taking her into her arms. “I would wait one thousand years, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by leaf-blowers twenty four hours a day, if I knew you were coming home at the end of it.”

As Villanelle closes her eyes and lets her lips meet Eve’s, she can almost hear the waves again; she can almost taste a hint of salt water in the kiss.

When they finally pull away, Eve still looks annoyingly concerned. “Don’t get me wrong, Vill, I love that romantic crap. I’m thoroughly flattered. But I actually want to talk about you.”

That one catches Villanelle off guard. She’s kind of used to things being about Eve most of the time, and that’s okay. Because frankly, she doesn’t want to go all deep into herself, and isn’t interested in being with someone who always asks her to open up and be gushy.

“Do we have to?”

“Yeah, we have to.” Eve steps out of the jacuzzi, and grabs a towel from the rack – holding it out for Villanelle. “Come on. Tell me about the last six months.”

* * *

The blizzard pounds away outside while they relocate to the living rom. Eve puts on a turtleneck and Villanelle puts on her favorite hand-knit sweater. Villanelle gets a fire going while Eve heckles. Once the flames catch, Villanelle steps back, and joins Eve next to the couch.

Eve puts an arm around Villanelle, and snuggles closer, pulling a fleece blanket over their laps. “Comfortable?”

That question is a trap. Villanelle sighs.

“The truth is… I don’t feel like I fit here. This house. This town. All of it. I have tried really hard to be that person for you, but…”

“It’s driving you crazy.”

“I don’t like failing at things. And I really don’t want to not fit in with your suburb life.”

Eve laughs her most comfortable laugh, the low one that usually only happens when she thinks no one is looking. “Babe, _I_ don’t fit in with this suburb life. I never thought I was meant for this either… until I got my new job, and I got you.”

“Now you’re trying to distract me with gushy stuff.”

“Wait.” Eve gets that little crease in her brow, the one she gets when she’s plotting. “Job. That’s it. You hate your job.”

“I do not,” Villanelle replies.

“You do! You’re miserable.”

“Maybe it’s hard being cooped up here, but I was fine working from my apartment in Paris. And I don’t think that co-working space is the magic solution.”

“Because it isn’t about the location. You’re unhappy because you’re bored of your work.”

“I’m super good at this job. I’ve always liked it. And my clients like me because I’m so good at it.”

“But now you’ve outgrown it.”

Villanelle’s mouth falls open, as she tries to form an automatic response. But then Eve’s statement makes it to her brain, and it’s news to her.

“It’s normal,” Eve says, as she brushes a strand of hair from Villanelle’s face. “You’re twenty-seven… You have time ahead of you. No one does one thing forever.”

“I know,” Villanelle says. “I can do plenty of things. I think about new careers all the time.” Her gaze flicks down to Eve’s knees. “I just don’t like that you had to be the one to point it out to me.”

“It’s my chance to return the favor.” Eve smiles. “You helped me see that I was unhappy… and now, I really am. Happy, that is. Excitement and engagement and, yeah, even a little stress, at work. Baths and fire and relaxation at home.”

“And sex.”

“And sex, sure.”

Another kiss. Eve slips a hand onto Villanelle’s thigh, and starts tracing up. It’s nice… but…

“Mmm!” Villanelle exclaims, right into Eve’s lips. “You know what we need right now?”

“For you to shut up and let me kiss you?”

“That high quality hot cocoa from Belgium that Anne-Laure sent us last month.”

Eve tries to look annoyed, like she always does at the mention of Villanelle’s friend’s name, but she’s betrayed by her mouth watering. “We can finally use that Bailey’s I got ages ago.”

* * *

A few minutes later, they’re back by the fire, a perfect refuge from the raging storm outside encasing the house in snow. Blankets up. Limbs entangled. Hot mugs in hands. Each sip warms Villanelle from the inside – the heat on her tongue, but also the fuzzy burn of alcohol as it goes down her throat.

“I guess… before, my job was my job, but I was traveling to new places, and meeting new people…” Eve raises an eyebrow at that. Good. “Now, I live in one place and I love one woman.”

“So it’s only natural to want something variety from work,” Eve says. “All you have to do is figure out what that looks like for you.”

“I could come work with you at the FBI!”

“No way.” Eve replies instantly. “Veto. Not even as a joke.”

Villanelle bites back a laugh. Eve’s too easy, sometimes. “Maybe I will start my own landscaping business. Put all of those miserable idiots out of business come spring.”

“That’s a thought.”

“Or, become a killer for hire and make them disappear.” Villanelle smiles at the thought. “Imagine how quiet it would be…”

“Easy there. I don’t want to get assigned to investigate you.”

They add several more logs to the fire as day winds into night. A few more mugs of Bailey’s and Villanelle’s starting to feel verifiably tipsy. They call Kenny to let him know his babysitting services are no longer needed, and let Tiger out of his cage to crawl around on their little nest of blankets like a jungle gym.

“What will you do if I get a night job?” Villanelle says. “What if my true passion means we work entirely opposite schedules and we’re never here at the same time?”

“I would have to put my foot down,” Eve says, running her hand up and down Villanelle’s shoulder idly. “A man needs certain things from his wife. Waiting at the door to welcome him home.”

“With a three-course dinner?”

“And don’t forget dessert.”

“So you can bring it in to the boys at work.”

Eve laughs at that. “You know, everyone at work gives me shit about having a young wife.”

“They’re just jealous.”

“For sure,” Eve says. “But if they only knew…”

“We could let them find out,” Villanelle says. “At your next office party…”

“Dear god, no.”

“You don’t miss the drama?” Villanelle leans close enough to feel Eve’s breath on her. “The excitement? The controversy?”

“I don’t miss the stress, and the fear, and the secrecy.”

“But…”

“But.”

“It’s a little boring to be normal, sometimes.”

“Good thing we are not.”

“And a normal honeymoon would be nice, but…”

“This is an okay substitute.” Villanelle takes Eve’s hand, and interlaces their fingers.

The fire crackles, while Tiger climbs across their knees, like his own little Everest.

A perfect moment. Villanelle can’t ask for any more.

Except.

“We better reschedule those tickets as soon as we can because I still need a fucking vacation.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed it, stepsister fuckers. 
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1uZynKCs2OZ1gxKmYX4XDG) is still here if you want it.
> 
> You can also find me on [tumblr](https://imunbreakabledude.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/not_breakable) xo


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